


The Adventures of Real Anal Sex (Starring Dean and Castiel)

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Sex, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, First Time, Humor, Lube, M/M, Porn, Realistic, Sexual Humor, Top Castiel, Top Dean, flip flop, yes people go to the bathroom in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:36:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how it really happened. Because this is how it really happens.</p><p>Thanks for the tweet, Astroglide -- product placement is now yours!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventures of Real Anal Sex (Starring Dean and Castiel)

“I think we should have sex.”

Cas says it like it's no big deal, and at this point, after what they've done for each other and especially _to_ each other, it probably shouldn't be. And maybe to Cas it isn't, but Dean is... well.

Dean is torn.

Which leads to him sort of fiddling around shifting nervously and being all “Erm… Cas, the kissing thing is nice but I’m, uh…”

Serious eyes.

Oh, fine, faced with Le Serious eyes he has to admit it. “I’m a little weird about getting my ass touched.”

“But Sam has patted you on the ass many times…”

“Never mind that, that’s totally different.” Dean looks away, kind of pouts. “You gonna tell me you’re totally good with having someone, ya know, go in there?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because that zone’s for unloading only— argh!” And Dean leans his head back and slams it against the wall.

“Dean, the anus has a number of very sensitive nerve endings, and if the point of our being intimate is to bring each other intense sexual pleasure…”

“And there you’re taking all the fun out of it. The point is you don’t mind taking it up the ass.”

“I don’t know.” Castiel’s eyebrows lift. “But I would be interested in trying.”

“Well.” Dean sighs. “I guess. If you wash out first. And… and have a little patience with me.”

“Why?” Castiel tilts his head. “You aren’t the one being penetrated.”

“I got a problem with putting my hand in there, too, OK?” Dean looks away. “Never mind my… oh, shit… ugh, wrong word to use. Go…go clean out or something. I don’t know what to do.”

* * *

 

When Cas emerges from the bathroom, he finds Dean sort of crooking his finger, half-bending it, staring at it, and twisting it in all sorts of weird directions.

“Not quite sure how I’m supposed to do this,” Dean says. “And there’s lube involved, which is weird. I mean, I’m used to lubing up my car, but that’s kind of different.”

“Maybe it’s not so different,” Castiel says. “Neither of us produce our own oil.”

“Yeah, but she’s steel on the inside,” Dean says. “Cas, are you sure you want to—”

Castiel leans over and kisses him. Hard and firm, the kiss of someone who knows what he wants and knows he’s ready to take it. It’s the kind of kiss Dean could get lost in. Hell, he has, that’s one reason they’re sitting here to begin with, half-naked and cross-legged, determined to take things to the next level. As awkward as that makes things.

“Right,” he says, “right,” and the words trip out over his lips in dull, repeating thuds. “So, um… turn over, I guess.”

He picks up the bottle …Astroglide, who the fuck thought Astroglide would be a good name, but at least is isn’t Butt Butter or something… as Castiel slides out of his pants and boxers and positions himself on the bed, on his hands and knees, trembling minutely but otherwise still.

And Dean stares.

If it were a girl striking this pose it’d be overwhelming. There’d be curves and handholds, and if he tilted his head the swell of her breasts hanging loose and free, and the tight crease of her ass would lead down into two powerful thighs and Dean’s animal brain would be on overdrive. Take. Fuck. Conquer.

But no breasts, fewer curves, and if Dean tilts his head he sees something hanging that isn’t a boob by any stretch of the imagination, and…

…and it’s Cas, and Dean has never, ever wanted something so badly in his entire life.

“Oh, God,” he says, and swallows it almost before it makes it out. “How, how do I…”

“You can touch me other places, too,” Castiel reminds him, and Dean nods, leans forward. The backs of his fingertips skim against Castiel’s spine.

Castiel sighs. This is what it’s like for them, just the contact, the warmth, an instant signal, like a chord has been struck on a resonant instrument. Dean slides his hand down, palm finding a curved hold on Castiel’s waist, then curls round again and hovers— then cups— then pushes in so slightly against the hardening bulge of Castiel’s cock. Castiel holds his breath, his muscles taut. Dean watches in fascination.

He almost doesn’t notice the fingers of his other hand land on Castiel’s hipbone, then track backward across the curve of his ass. Then they’re sliding inward, not quite there, just barely parting the cleft. Not touching anything yet. Just in, just a little bit farther than usual. Then stopping.

Castiel lets out all his breath in a rush. Taking in another, he pushes backward into Dean’s hand. “Go on,” he begs, breathy, “come on, Dean, come _on.”_

* * *

 

Go on… the words in Dean’s ears smash, make a racket, don’t sound right. It’s not weird? Cas wants? He wants Dean’s fingers where they are right now, snaking inward and almost, almost _almost_ touching…? For real?

Maybe he means Dean’s other hand, maybe it’s Dean’s cheek pressed against his spine, but they’re both still, Cas’s cock twitching in his hand notwithstanding, and what else could he mean but—

“Dean, touch it,” another heated whispered rush, “touch it, God, touch it.”

“Cas,” the word chokes, and Dean can’t breathe in, he coughs, and clutches his fingers a little tighter, taking a handful of ass with him — and the noise Cas makes can’t be described but he’s never gonna forget it.

“You want me to touch,” he starts, slowly, and Cas interrupts him with “please please _please_.”

His fingers brush across it. The. The _hole._ God, the word sounds weird. And the flesh feels weird, wrinkly and puckered, and Cas just says “more.”

“More? Really?”

“Dean, more,” Castiel orders, and then, “go _in,_ come on.”

Holyjesusgodshitfuckforeverandeverona _cracker_.

He dips in. Just enough that his fingertip, just his _nail,_ for Christ’s sake, is locked into the center of that ring.

Holy fuck, that’s a tight fit. Cas’s ass will squeeze his fingernail off.

“More,” Castiel says.

“It’s good?”

“It’s amazing, it’s so hot, Dean, go _in_.”

Dean hasn’t even lubed up his finger yet. He doesn’t want to hurt Cas. He’s sitting back on his haunches now, his other hand resting on Cas’s hip, sort of pulling his other ass cheek away, and he’s watching as his fingertip slides against the pucker, pushes in, and there’s that tight press again, like a vise, and Castiel’s moaning, starting to gyrate his hips back against Dean’s finger.

And Dean’s staring at another guy’s asshole and he’s turned on as fuck.

He shifts on the bed, tries to tamp down on his erection a little. “It really feels that good?” he says. “Like, it doesn’t hurt?”

Castiel looks over his shoulder. His cheeks are red and he’s taking shallow breaths. “I don’t know how to say it,” he says, “it’s… it’s hot and and it hurts and it’s like… like lightning, Dean, and I just, I want… I want to be _full_ in there.”

Dean’s face must go equally crimson. “You want—?”

Castiel nods. His eyes are bright with clear intent.

Dean slides his finger to the left, just around the rim, a bit lower but no deeper, and Castiel jerks to the right, tries to get him to move further in that direction. His gasp is totally shocked, like touching him thirty degrees to the left is a whole new experience, but it only takes him a moment to start going “more” and “deeper” and “come on, Dean,” and Dean knows him too well to be fooled by any false pretenses in his voice.

Jesus, Cas likes to be fingered in the ass, he freaking loves it.

_It must feel damn good._

The thought occurs to him and he pushes it aside. Shifts in his stance because his own  ass is starting to tingle in a weird curious way.

“I’m—” He leans forward and kisses Castiel’s hip. “I’m gonna lube you up now, okay?”

“Okay,” Castiel assents, and when Dean pulls out his fingers and stares at them (nothing gross there, hooray, Cas really did clean out), Castiel adds, “ _Hurry._ ”

* * *

 

So the lube feels nothing like Dean expected. For one thing, it’s cold. Like Purell, kind of, but less of a drying effect on your hands. It’s just… clear and minorly goopy. Doesn’t clump up or anything. It’s handsoap. Dishwashing liquid. It’s…

It’s lube.

”Wow,” he says, staring at his fingers, dipping them into a fist to keep them wet. His palms feel greasy, wet, weird.

Castiel has leaned forward onto his elbows,  head resting there, and he eases his face to the side, looking over at Dean. “Dean,” he says, a simple push of a word.

“Right, I’m comin’,” Dean says, and when he tracks a finger over Cas’s ass cheek he leaves a trail. Like a snail. Glistening. Oh, God, this is _weird_.

One finger to the edge, and he says it again. “Are you sure?”

“Dean..!” Impatience.

And plunge, one push, he’s in, it’s gone, his finger has disappeared, and Dean’s mind is drawing a blank, just black dots against the white canvas of his brain. Somewhere he registers heat, and somewhere his own breath shocks him, but slowly the words make themselves into thoughts. _My finger is inside Cas’s ass. Like, inside him. In…_

…do angels even poop?…

He banishes the thought, mentally swatting it away like an insistent mosquito, and checks on Cas instead. “Cas, is it, does it hurt?”

“Dean.”

More impatience? Or insistence? Or annoyance? Dean can’t tell. He’s friggin _plugged in_ to the guy, he should know, but—

“Dean, you have to _move_ it.” Castiel raises a finger, makes a circling motion.

“Oh. Right. But won’t that hurt?” Because he’s so tight right now, all around Dean’s finger like he could swallow it, and—

“You’re supposed to stretch me out.” Castiel has the air of a patient teacher. “So you can penetrate me with your—”

“Oh.” And suddenly Dean’s dick is imagining being in something tight, and he has to grab his free hand and adjust. That hand is lube-smeared too, and his pants are now slick. “Oh. Right. God. Oh. Okay.”

And he starts to circle.

Castiel gives a groan, and an “oh,” and it’s hard to say what he’s doing, but his muscles are trembling, and Dean thinks he sees Castiel clench his jaw. Furrow his brow, even? It’s hard to tell from behind him. “Cas?” he says, afraid to ask whether it hurts, afraid to be hurting Cas even out of sheer ignorance.

Castiel takes in a short breath. “Strange,” he says. “It’s… strange… but.. when you go in and out, that’s—” and Dean does it, withdraws and pushes in again, and Castiel jumps minutely. “That’s good, that’s… that’s exciting.”

“Exciting?”

Castiel nods. “How… how does it feel to you?”

Only one word. “Tight.”

“Really?” Is there the edge of a grin on Castiel’s word?

“Yeah.” Dean takes in a breath himself. “Really tight.”

Castiel is silent for a moment, pushing into Dean’s thrusts, breathing as evenly as he can. Then he breathes deeper, and says, “Try another.”

“Another?” Another finger, two fingers, three and it’ll be wider than his dick, but two… oh, god, two will give him a feeling almost like it’ll be, but what if it’s too much…

“Another, quick, Dean, come on.”

And even though he doesn’t really know what’s the hurry, Dean slides his third finger in with his index.

He sucks in a breath. “Holy fuck you’re so tight, Cas…!” And it’s true, his two fingers are being squeezed like nothing he’s ever felt, not like a wet girl’s pussy but just hot and dry and _tight_ as hell.

“It’s hard,” Castiel says. “It’s hard… I want to … I want to push…” and before Dean can put it together enough to realize _he wants to poop out my fingers_ and get appropriately grossed out, Castiel lifts his hand again and slowly indicates two fingers parting into a V and turning in a slow circle. “Slowly,” he cautions, “slowly.”

And Dean goes as slowly as he can, but still Castiel groans, clutches the bed, pants as though trying to control his breathing. “Are you OK?” Dean has to ask.

“Slowly,” is all Castiel whispers.

Dean nods, repeats the word back to him. “Slowly.” And slowly, he twists his wrist, moves his fingers in their open V, watches as Castiel’s rendered open and gaping for him. Yeah, he could probably get in there. And the way Castiel’s warm inside, gripping his fingers even as he relaxes… yeah… he could… he…

“Dean!”

Castiel arches, rears up, and Dean pulls out quickly, terrified. An instant later Castiel’s turned back to stare at him with wide eyes and a shaky smile. “That, don’t, don’t stop, do that, do that again,” he stammers, and shakes his ass like an overeager kid. “That felt so… so good, just there— again, Dean,” and Dean nods, his heart pounding, thoroughly confused. He puts in the two again, spreads them again, and this time he feels it, the bump and the reaction, Castiel’s body spasming, and wow, he just… he just… _wow_.

“Oh, God,” Castiel’s moaning, and he’s reached back to stroke his own cock, “oh, God, Dean, do it, I’m ready, now.”

“I— Cas—”

And Castiel takes a measured breath in and looks back, his hand dropping. He swallows. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking— Dean— are you ready?”

Dean can hear the echo of his own breaths in his ears. He can feel the flush rising in his cheeks. And most of all, he can feel the corners of his mouth lifting.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

* * *

 

Condom. Condom with slippery fingers. Fuck. Fuck. Who thought of all this, anyway?

Dean runs his hands over the sheets to get the lube off. Fucking slippery latex, go _on_. He pinches the end of the condom, tries to keep it airtight. Habit formed from fucking too many girls who could actually get pregnant. Not sure why he’s bothering with Cas. Pretty sure angels can’t give you the clap. Whatever. It rolls on. Anytime he gets frustrated, he just looks over at Cas. Those thighs. Jesus. His hole and hole doesn’t seem like a dirty word anymore not when it’s gaping and open and he can see _inside_ him and Dean’s so turned on his head is swimming despite his fumbling fingers.

“Holy fuck, Cas,” he mutters, “holy fuck, want so bad,” and Cas is overlapping his cries with “Dean” and there’s no porno in the world that’s this hot and he’s grabbing Cas’s hips with two hot hands and pressing his cock (lube-slick condom) against Cas’s ass (lube-slick cheeks) and pushing forward and

he misses.

He misses and his cock slides under Cas’s ass and down across his perineum and head-butts the back of his balls.

“Oops,” Dean says.

“Uh,” Cas says.

They take breaths. Dean looks down. He’s still hard. This is not a failure Viagra needs to be employed to fix. Cas is just too damn slick.

Another try, another miss. This time Dean’s cock catches at his hole for a moment before sliding upward and away. For that second, Castiel makes an _nngh_ noise that Dean wants to record and play every evening before he goes to bed.

Castiel breathes carefully and pushes his ass back again, as though Dean isn’t close enough. Dean wraps his hands around his dick and guides it toward his target. For a moment they’re playing a weird game of threading-the-needle and the absurdity is just about enough to make Dean call the whole thing off and just collapse laughing.

And then he’s in. A moment, a squeeze, and his cockhead is gone, and _ohdearGodinheaven_ he’s in.

“Fuck,” he breathes,  looks at the spot where he’s hitched, wedged into Cas, and his cock throbs as though he could lose it right then.

“Dean.” Sometimes Dean’s sure that’s the only word Cas knows. “Dean, keep going.”

“Oh—okay,” Dean stutters, and slides his hips forward, daring to let go of himself and grab Cas’s hips.

And then, Jesus, the suction, it’s like he’s being pulled in, so tight so quick so hot and he has to, he can’t not, deeper and deeper and buried to the hilt and

“Dean!”

Everything halts. He looks down. Castiel’s back is rounded. His shoulders are heaving. He’s struggling to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“No—”

“Should I stop?”

Vigorous shaking of a sweat-dampened head of hair. “No.”

“Does it hurt?”

Another shake, but smaller this time. “It’s very…”

Not another word for a second. Dean’s mind fills the silence with a million possibilities. _painful. awful. big. small. inadequate. crappy. annoying. unpleasant._

And when Castiel opens his mouth again, all he says is the same thing. “It’s very… it’s very…”

Dean knows what it is for him. Very tight. Too hot to be believed. Sending his pulse pounding under his skin in loud beats. He’s obsessed with that spot where they’re together, wants to feel what it’s like when he moves, when the heat squeezes around him and Castiel’s body moves under his, wants to have those droplets of sweat on Castiel’s back stuck to his chest, wants to taste them,and he can’t, can’t do any of it until Castiel says something more than “It’s very…”

“It’s very what, Cas?” Dean says, and his mouth is dry.

“It’s very…” And Castiel turns his head.

His eyes are blazing. His brows dip down into a low V. There’s never been so much fire in eyes so blue.

“Dean,” he says, and his voice is as ragged as the strands of hair that dangle, jet-black from sweat and unruly, from his forehead. “Dean, keep going.” He takes another breath. “Fuck me.”

The last time his voice was that low or charged, he was telling Dean God had plans for him.

Dean closes his eyes, groans, cants his whole body forward, and Castiel cries out, voice catching, letting the rest of his breath out only when Dean pulls out an inch or two. He struggles for another inhalation, and Dean pushes forward again, and now he can almost feel that bump that had made Castiel shout before. A dizzy thrill flies up through his chest when Castiel shouts again at the contact. Yes. He did that. And he does it again, and Castiel’s hands go to claws on the sheets, gathering up handfuls of them.

And the tightness won’t let up, either, and Castiel’s shouts grow more ragged and louder and higher, until they break, then they shatter on the floor of his register and they’re low moans again. Dean doesn’t know what he’s saying, just “tight” and “Cas” and “fuck,” and still his eyes are drawn to where his hips drive into Castiel’s, into that point of contact, and he wonders, and he itches, and what if?

What _if,_ but one thing at a time, and he doesn’t wanna miss a moment of this.

* * *

 

So far, so good. Dean’s experiment in buttfucking (gay sex, call it gay sex at least!) is proceeding pretty well.  
  
Better than pretty well, if Castiel can be believed. The way he clutches at the sheets, the way he groans, the way he motherfucking _clenches_ around Dean’s dick, then breathes out, relaxes, and everything goes soft and warm again, tight but not constricting, it’s… it’s pretty fucking amazing, not quite the rhythm Dean would use on himself but pretty durn close, and if he were able to stop thinking and just go with it he knows he’d be able to come. And that’d be all folks, him and Cas would officially be bed-buddies and he would be able to claim yet another skill. Achievement unlocked, like the kids say.  
  
If he could just stop thinking.  
  
But he can’t, and what’s more, he doesn’t want to, because every grunt Cas gives might be one of pain, or it could be Cas really enjoying himself, and Dean doesn’t know, he doesn’t get it, and he really wants Cas to have a good time but he doesn’t know…  
  
and he keeps asking “You okay?” like an idiot. and Castiel keeps looking over his shoulder and growling, or grunting, and when he does have words to growl they’re “don’t stop” or “keep going” and that’s good, right? Right?  
  
Then why isn’t Castiel coming?

  
Why aren’t either of them coming? How long is this supposed to take? They’re both guys, they should be five-minute wonders, but Dean’s holding himself back because he wants Cas to—  
  
And then another fucking amazing squeeze of Castiel’s ass around Dean’s cock and his brainwaves go all frazzled and he groans and holds back more.  
  
This is amazing, and Cas looks amazing beneath him, and he’s totally at a loss…  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Finally something that’s not growled. Oh but maybe that’s a a bad sign, maybe that means it’s started to hurt… “Cas? What? Are you…” No, shit, he’s not gonna ask if Cas is okay for the seventy billionth time…  
  
Castiel takes in a breath. “Move,” he says. For the seventy billionth time. “And…”  
  
Oh, there hasn’t been an ‘and’ yet. Dean braces for it.  
  
“And touch me, for God’s sake, Dean.”  
  
Oh.  
  
OH. Right. the touching part. That’s usually a good part of sex, the touching.  
  
He’s usually good about making sure a girl gets off, makes sure he’s rocking against her clit, or he has a thumb down there stroking gently, but this… this is Cas on his hands and knees and Dean has to hold on just to keep from slipping out (the weirdest fucking paradox, that it’s the tightest thing he’s ever felt and he’s afraid of slipping out) and what if he grabs at Cas’s dick and slides out or he can’t get the right grip and Cas is just miserable?  
  
Why the hell does he even care that much? The worst thing that happened when he couldn’t bring a girl off was that she got mad and left. And girls always eventually get mad and leave.  
  
God, how stupid he is. He’s scared of fucking this up because if he can’t please Castiel, maybe Castiel will leave, and he will be devastated.  
  
He can’t afford to lose Cas. Not like he could afford to lose so many others.  
  
He eases off. Castiel pushes back against him. “Dean.”  
  
“Cas, I don’t know,” Dean says, and his tongue feels heavy in his mouth. “I don’t know how.”  
  
Castiel slides off him, turns over, sits up and faces him. His hand pats at Dean’s cheek. “Dean,’ he says. “I like it when you touch me. So just touch me.”  
  
Dean, not knowing what else to do, fighting the urge to panic, just layers his hand over Castiel’s on his cheek.  
  
Castiel nods, turns his hand over, and guides Dean’s hand down to his cock.  
  
Fuck, it’s hot, hot and hard in his hand, and Dean kind of touched it before, but not like this, and his fingers run over it, amazed by the simplest thing. Castiel’s cock. Hard for him. Standing up for him. The head so soft like velvet. The vein swollen. His balls, tight.  
  
And Castiel’s head tipping back, a soft “oh” issuing from his throat, a smile flying across his face and gone again at the touch.  
  
“Oh,” Dean says, nodding, realizing.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel says.  
  
“Do you want me to—”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Castiel eases back, turns over again, and Dean tries out the handhold, tries to find his grip on Castiel’s hip with one hand, reach around to curl his fingers around Castiel’s cock with the others. He feels likehe’s falling forward, but if he works his stomach muscles, he can stay upright, not fall forward and collapse onto Cas. Hopefully for long enough. Yeah, yeah, this should work. And Cas is starting to move in a soft circular rhythm, rubbing up against dean’s hips, sliding against his fingers, moaning when they catch on the ridge of his cock, humming with satisfaction when he lurches forward again.

  
God, yes. It’s gonna work. The only piece that’s missing is the actual fucking part.  
  
Dean withdraws his hand — “Just for a sec,’ he murmurs,— and takes hold of his cock, still hard if not quite totally filled out from his moment of fear — and eases it to Castiel’s hole. Eases it in.  
  
Castiel grunts. And there’s no mistaking this grunt. It’s not a happy one.  
   
“Dean,” he says.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
“Dean, we’re going to need more lube.”

* * *

 

Second time around isn’t as awkward as the first. Dean knows what motions to make now, and he knows how he’s gonna feel all wrapped up in there and squeezed. And he has an idea what Cas is gonna feel like in his hand, hot and hard, bucking into his touch. Biggest problem with the whole second-coat-of-lube thing is just waiting through it.  
  
He wipes his slicked finger on the back of his own thigh and grips Castiel’s hip.

  
They make the same noise in unison as Dean slides in — a tight, strangled “aah” that resonates in stereo in Dean’s ears — and God, yes, this is how it should have been from the beginning, him tight in Cas, and his fingers moving around Cas’s cock — exploring, feeling, enjoying the textures and heat beneath them — and Castiel making strangled sounds, sweaty, pushing back as though he can’t get enough of Dean’s cock inside him. “More,” he keeps saying, “more,” and Dean goes faster, harder, no matter how extraordinary the pressure around him, no matter how viselike the grip — because if it’s deadly iit’s a damn good way to go.  
  
And the sight of Cas’s spine, with droplets of perspiration everywhere, his muscles rippling, his spine arching, and Castiel’s low grunts, the guttural noises he makes when he takes in breath — it’s all dirty and luscious, a feast for sound and sight and touch, and dean’s so ready now to just let go and drop over the edge. Any worry about not being able to come is gone, and now he’s pumping and pounding like something out of a porno, all motoring hips and possessive growls.  
  
“Cas,” he manages, “Cas, fuck, so, so fucking good.”  
  
Pump. A groan. Cas squeezing around him.  
  
Dean’s eyes close. “Fuck” he says again, “so fucking, I can’t, I’m—”  
  
“Dean—” and unlike every other time Cas says the name, it’s high, quavering, wanting.  
  
He answers in the same tone— “Cas—!”  
  
“Dean—”  
  
“Oh, my God.” The first rush of orgasm, that endlessly delicious moment before it slides upward to a peak.  
  
“More, Dean, more!” Cried out, muffled against the pillow. Cas is literally biting the pillow, holy shit.  
  
“I’m coming— Jesus—” so fucking tight around his cock, Castiel’s hip so hard, his cock in Dean’s hand pressing up against his fingers—  
  
“Faster—”  
  
And that’s all he hears; the sound of his own shout overwhelms him and he only knows the pumping of his blood, the tightness of Castiel’s skin under his fingers and the rush, the wave forward from his balls, the condom filling, everything tight and hot and taut for too long and not long enough, the end.  
  
And then all the tension releases into an almost sick sense of liquid in his gut. He’s shaking, he’s groaning, he’s pulling out and falling down, laughing, overwhelmed, rolling onto the pillow beside Castiel. The condom sticks, gross and clinging, to his dick, but he can forget it for a moment, for this one moment when he and Cas are flying through cloud nine together—  
  
—except for the eyes he meets are still tight with tension.  
  
Except for his other hand is still clean.  
  
“You didn’t.” His stomach clenches. “Oh, shit, Cas, you didn’t come, I… I got so wound up, I didn’t think…”  
  
Castiel’s gaze softens. “That’s fine, Dean. I wanted to be with you, I wasn’t expecting—”  
  
“No, no, no.” Dean sits up. “Shit, I did something wrong, what did I do? You said more, you said faster, I tried to listen, I…”  He wheels himself to the side, dangles his legs off the bed and pulls off the condom, trying not to look at it too closely, though frankly it looks cleaner than he expected. Better not look for blemishes when the biggest one was his own performance.  
  
“Dean.” Castiel eases up to sit behind him, wraps his arms around him, hands clasping over his stomach. “You’re expecting too much for the first time. It was very good.”  
  
Dean shakes his head. “Yeah, but I make it a point to get girls off when I’m with them, and I’m only ever with them once. You— you I don’t want it to be just once, I’ve got to figure this out now, you deserve it more than anybody, I—”  
  
Castiel laughs, kisses his shoulder, and whispers into it. “Stop it,” he says. “Even I can tell this is a very awkward conversation.”  
  
Dean spins in his arms. “It’s important,” he says. “So, you said more, you said faster, I tried to listen, but what did—”  
  
“I meant your hand,” Castiel says.  
  
Dean’s mouth opens.  
  
Oh, yeah. That makes sense.  
  
He went faster, he did more… with his dick. But he was still sort of feeling his way around Castiel’s cock, more entranced with the feeling of it than trying to get him off. And the rhythm was off, and weird, and Dean had gotten a cramp in his arm, and he couldn’t maintain that level of pressure sight unseen, and…  
  
“I could,” he says, and stops. Swallows. Starts again. “If you want it now…”  
  
His hand drops to Castiel’s waist, slides over the hard lump of his cock. Castiel shudders.  
  
And it would be so easy, right now, to just lean Cas back. Kiss his body, seduce him the way Dean does for girls. Wrap his hands around Castiel’s cock and pump him into an orgasm. Maybe his mouth between Castiel’s legs, caressing his thights, maybe even tasting his balls and the hard shaft of his dick. That would be awesome. Cas would probably love it. Dean definitely would.  
  
But something stops him as he leans in to kiss Castiel’s mouth. Less than an inch apart, and he just stops.  
  
“But you liked it, right?”  
  
Castiel moaning when Dean opened him up… wrecked, on the bed… Dean’s own ass tingling at the way Castiel reacted, curious… the way Castiel had looked, with his eyes full of possessive fire…  
  
“I loved it,” Castiel says. He leans in and completes the kiss. “You felt… amazing… inside me.”  
  
“And you’d want to do it again?” Which is not Dean’s point. But he needs to ask.  
  
“Yes. Definitely.”  
  
Dean swallows hard. He thinks maybe he is so far in love with Castiel that he’s gone crazy.  
  
He picks his hand up from Castiel’s cock, lays it on his arm.  
  
“Then do it to me,” he says.

* * *

Castiel stares at him for a moment. It’s an odd thing, to see an angel so taken aback that he’s speechless. Dean’s about to break down and say “What?” when Castiel finally breaks his silence.  
  
“Are you sure?” he says. Dean nods, but that doesn’t convince Castiel. “You know it’s not a quid pro quo situation.”  
  
“Course I know,” Dean blusters, and adds, for good measure. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  
“Yes, you do.”  
  
Oh, right. Not a stretch to figure out a guy who does exorcisms has a working knowledge of Latin. “All right, fine I do. Point is, I get it. I wanna…” And he falters. He doesn’t know how to express this weird, almost morbid curiosity. “I wanna give you…”  
  
Castiel covers his lips with one finger. Wrong answer, apparently. “It’s not about giving me anything,” he says. “It’s about what you want to do. If you don’t want to, there’s no reason to force yourself—”  
  
“You’re talking too damn much, Cas.” Dean grabs his shoulders, lunges and yanks, pulling them into a kiss. The warm soft mesh of their mouths together speaks better than Dean can on his own, and he knows Castiel can taste the  want. Still. He’s gotta find a way to say it, and he lets the words tumble out as the kiss trails off. “I was watching you, the whole time, watching how you moved, how you — how you sounded, and I wanted —”  
  
He laughs. He’s not good with words on his best day, there’s no way he’s verbalizing how his ass tingled when he watched Castiel take his cock. “How ‘bout this. You touch me a little there and i see if I like it. Good compromise, huh?”  
  
Still Castiel is dubious. “If you can’t even say it out loud, Dean—”  
  
“Fuckin’ finger my ass, Cas.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes open wide. And a moment later, Dean’s grabbed and kissed so hard he doesn’t think he’s ever gonna get his lips back. Castiel groans, something that might be Dean’s name, but the sound is so saturated and tortured with want, it’s hard to tell for sure.  
  
Dean’s heart pounds. This is happening.  
  
He leans back, starts to roll onto his stomach, to get on his hands and knees, to give Castiel the same picture he got to start with.  
  
He doesn’t get far. Castiel catches his shoulder, pushes it down onto the bed, climbs above him and looks down at him with possessive fervor. “I’m going to watch your face,” he says.  
  
There isn’t a curse word in any language big enough for the rush of excitement and fear that washes through Dean at that moment.  
  
“Legs up,” Castiel commands.  
  
Dean obeys before he can think to. And as Castiel eases up onto his knees, Dean sees him framed by the V of his own spread legs, rising up like some kind of sculpture, eyes focused and chest hard and cock so fucking close and red and flushed that Dean’s mouth is watering to just look at it.  
  
He’s gonna die from the sight, before Castiel even lays a finger on him.  
  
For an instant all of his fear and anxiety and suppressed want is a maelstrom that he thinks might cause him to freak out and run away or burn up or explode or fall to pieces or all of them at once.  
  
That first touch is about to happen.  
  
He feels the rocket blast of excitement before the touch itself. All his nerves fire at once, and the electricity sublimates into something so joltingly wonderful it takes him a minute to register how it actually felt. He sure as hell doesn’t recognize his own shout, but he feels the hoarseness in his throat after.  
  
And now it’s Castiel who has to draw back. “Did it hurt?”  
  
“N… no.” Dean’s voice is shaking. Jesus, is that really him?  
  
“Did you like it?”  
  
“I… I don’t know.” He does know his ass is on fire now, in a good way, nerves running dazed rings around the base of his spine. “I think so. Do it again.”  
  
“All right.” And Dean breathes in, lets it out as Cas makes contact, and concentrates on the sensation.  
  
It’s good. It’s dry and raw, it’s almost like the brush of fingers on paper. Like fingertip against fingertip, soft and electrifying, but without the moisture of oily skin. Dean doesn’t know just how to characterize it, but he knows he feels it, intensely. Castiel’s finger, drawing soft rings around him, dabbing and then pressing, making soft indentations along the width of the pucker.  
  
God, pucker is such a bad word. It’s almost as bad as hole.  
  
Which, speaking of which, Cas has not ventured inside.  
  
He’s being a tease is what he’s doing, pressing and daubing, without once opening Dean up, even though the skin just inside is crying out, begging for its turn. He needs more. He’s itching and shifting his hips against the sheets. His legs have folded up over his chest, and Castiel is leaning one forearm against his knees, casual and measured. The bastard.  
  
“Cas, do it,” Dean says.  
  
And damn if that grin isn’t the slyest thing Dean’s ever seen. “I am.”  
  
The fucker, he’s gonna make Dean say it. “Put them inside.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
Fucking bastard. “Finger my goddamn ass, put your fingers in there, for Christ’s s—-“  
  
And then he is and Dean has no more words.

* * *

Dry.  
  
So fucking dry and tight.  
  
Jesus.

Dean expected the tightness — he felt it around him when it was his finger, but Castiel’s finger inside _him_? It’s impossible. Like having a sliver of wood embedded in you, a point, too hard and too invasive.  
  
God, it was so good when it was outside and now he’s just…  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Cas—”  
  
And Cas pulls out, and all of a sudden Dean’s too empty.  
  
What the hell? His nerves were complaining so hard a minute ago at Castiel’s finger inside him, and now are complaining just as vehemently at its absence. This is ridiculous. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling.  
  
Castiel clears his throat. “I’ll lubricate…”  
  
He looks down, and there’s just enough of a flicker of disappointment in his voice that Dean feels bad. Damn it. He should have liked it more, he should have been more responsive. Maybe if he’d breathed a little deeper. Maybe if he’d done something different, it would have felt better.  
  
He curses himself all the way up to the moment Castiel’s fingers, gleaming with slick, catch the light and Dean’s eye. And then he’s just cursing.  
  
A lump of dread lowers into his stomach. What’s it going to feel like now, when it’s no longer dry and papery, when there’s cool slickness inside him, Will it feel like a worm crawling inside him? Like some sort of weird alien probe thing? Dean’s squirming. Maybe this whole having things in his butt was a really bad idea and he should go back to being weirded out by it. Why risk the internal embarrassment of hanging out with his buddies and secretly knowing the whole time he’s had another guy’s finger in his ass, when it wasn’t even worth it?  
  
Castiel leans over him, drops a kiss on his chin, and says “Dean, please relax.” His lips hover over Dean’s, touch the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose. It makes Dean laugh, and Castiel’s smiling too, teasing him still with lips just out of reach. Dean strains to meet him, and just for a moment he’s forgotten everything else and just enjoys the closeness. Castiel’s mouth finding his is always a good thing. And so’s his body warm on Dean’s own, his hard dick riding against Dean’s softening one—  
  
—and then he realizes Cas is in him, has been in him for a good five seconds. His finger’s crooked inside, simple and smooth, and it’s okay, it’s not hurting, it’s just there, strange and present. Dean exhales and closes his eyes, feeling. Accepting.  
  
In another movement it all changes again. Cas sweeps his finger down and around, and Dean’s body lights up with sensation, immediate, hot and electric. He feels unevenly touched by the half-circle Cas has drawn. He needs the arc completed, he needs Castiel to drag his finger the rest of the way.  
  
He whines and pushes his hips upward. When Castiel’s finger draws upward, loosening the muscles inside him that hadn’t yet been touched, Dean sighs, a moan escaping on the edge of it.  
  
“Is it better?” Castiel asks, carefully, face inches from Dean’s and watching intently.  
  
Dean nods and swallows. “Go a little deeper,” he says, and Castiel presses in, meeting the shallow push of Dean’s hips. Yes, deeper’s good, and there’s a pleasure there that’s building, a heat. And Dean remembers, he’s already come. He doesn’t need to be turned on by this, he just needs to enjoy it, to stand it, for Cas — poor guy still hasn’t gotten his rocks off. And he thinks he can, if he just breathes and relaxes, he can let Cas push into him, give Cas the release he’s been denied so far—  
  
and shit, suddenly this feels damn good.  
  
When did he start panting? When did he start pumping his hips up into each press? And when in the hell did he start getting hard again?  
  
Maybe when Castiel started tonguing along his neck. Maybe when the second finger slid in, opened him up, making air tingle against his walls where the hot-soft of Castiel’s skin wasn’t pushing. Maybe when Castiel’s low growls reached Dean’s ears. Or maybe it was when those growls transmuted into words, low whispers that just now start to make sense.  
  
“—tight, inside you, Dean… and I want it so badly… tell me I can have you, please…”  
  
with his dick so hard and leaking against Dean’s thigh, and— oh God what did Castiel just touch—-  
  
“Fuck,” Dean mutters, and Castiel’s fingers crook inside him. He shouts. It takes him another moment, another breath, to finish the thought.  
  
“Fuck _me._ ”

* * *

  
“Dean.” The word is hard, unnecessarily hard, and Dean doesn’t know why it comes now. In the wake of a “fuck me,” which came in the wake of a “please,” which came in the wake of … a whole lot of poking and prodding around, which Dean had damn well decided he liked, so much so that the word, and Castiel pulling out his finger now, have filed themselves in the “Dean doesn’t like this” column. In a big way.  
  
He doesn’t like the “no” that comes afterward much, either.  
  
Dean sits up. His ass is starting to complain, too, like if it’s gonna get all slicked up and nothing’s coming in, can it at least let some things out? It’s a really, really unpleasant sensation, and the churning of his stomach isn’t helping.  It’s anxiety, sure, but it’s disappointment most of all. After everything, after what Cas has given him, that he can’t offer the same convincingly enough that Cas will take him up. “Why?” he says, and his voice shakes.  
  
“You’re not comfortable,” Castiel says. I can feel it when I touch you, Dean. I—”  
  
“It felt good.” Dean wonders why his voice is sharp as the edge of a knife. This is supposed to be making love. “Damn it, Cas, it felt good. I can take it.”  
  
“You have to want to.”  
  
“I said I did.”  
  
“For me.”  
  
“For us.” Dean shakes his head. “Ya know, I remember a time you told me trust should flow both ways, Cas. I trust you. I— I friggin love you, man. Can’t I give you this?”  
  
Castiel’s eyes are the most extraordinary shade of blue right now. They always are, but when Dean thinks there might be tears creeping up inside them, they turn to something as illusive and ethereal as twilight. “Dean,” he says, and now he’s back to just saying Dean’s name, but Dean hears the message.  
  
He sighs, puts his head on Castiel’s shoulder, but not before looking down. Castiel’s cock has softened. Not totally, but it’s half-hard, not nearly as full and rigid as it had been when Castiel had been fingering him, watching his face, possessed with lust.  
  
Fuck, he couldn’t even keep Cas interested. He was that bad at it.  
  
“I can hear everything that’s going through your mind, Dean, and none of it is true.”  
  
The words jar through his self-loathing, and Dean has to swallow hard to keep the tears from his own eyes. He doesn’t cry over death and destruction; he’ll be damned if sex makes it happen.  
  
“Then fuck me.” Dean lifts his head and kisses Castiel hard, a sucking kiss that wont let go of his lips for seconds too long. “Trust me, Cas. I can take it, I want to. Shit, we’ve taken bullets for each other. Fuck me.” And the words come out without meaning to. “Want me.”  
  
Even if Castiel could hear everything in Dean’s mind, he still gives a surprised gasp at this. So does Dean. Neither of them was expecting it.  
  
“How can you doubt that I want you?” Castiel asks. “After everything? You think this body’s… imperfection…” He glances down at his cock… “proves I’ve lost interest?”  
  
“I don’t know what to think,” Dean says. “I only know you were working on me, and you said please, and I said yeah, and then all of a sudden you said no and you pulled away, and I lost you—”  
  
“You haven’t lost me,” Castiel says. His gaze is solemn, and he cups Dean’s chin.

“God, I hope not,” Dean mutters, leaning into it. For a moment they’re both silent.  
  
Then Castiel smiles. Just barely, like he always does. He dusts his lips against Dean’s. “Let’s start again,” he says. “Let’s start again, and this time— this time we’ll go slower. And I’ll take good care of you, Dean, and… we’ll wait until we’re both so ready we can’t wait any longer.” His smile quirks to one side. “Unless I’m overestimating your stamina.”  
  
Dean shakes his head fast.  He’s pretty sure Castiel’s just teasing him with that, but he’ll be damned if he lets it slide  
  
“Of course not,” Castiel says, stifling a laugh. “Dean, just so you know… I want this. Very badly. But what I want isn’t just your body….”  
  
“Shut up, Cas,” Dean says with a laugh. “Trust me, you don’t have to say it. And if you do, I’m gonna be too embarrassed to start over.”  
  
Castiel hangs his head, but the smile is still there. “Of course.”  
  
Dean rises to his feet. “And if we’re doing this for real… I’m gonna start like you did.” He reddens. “By, uh, cleaning out.”

He heads toward the bathroom. When he comes back out, this is gonna happen. And he’s gonna do it, because of all the guys in the world he could do it with, he’s chosen the one who understands he could never live with himself if they didn’t make it happen tonight. “Another time” would have been a mood-killer that would have lasted beyond tonight. Dean’s just that stubborn.  
  
And Castiel’s angelic stamina sure as hell comes in handy in moments like this.  
  
Yeah, they’re a perfect match.

* * *

In the bathroom, Dean relaxes on the toilet, lets his muscles, already stretched and loose, go completely. What needs to come out comes out. It’s not much, from what he can feel, and what there is is watery and hardly worth worrying about. He dabs around his ass with toilet paper, double checks, sees nothing to speak of. Maybe he’s clean already.  
  
He flushes the toilet, gets up and washes his hands. The face in the mirror challenges him, and he leans forward into its daring leer, puts on his patented frown, and reaches behind himself. His hands are damp and just a little soapy, and when he slides a finger inside himself, there’s no resistance. Just a good feeling, a sharp bolt of electricity. It helps that he knows his own limit so intimately. If it’s too much, he knows to pull out. He sighs, forces his shoulder to relax, and rocks onto his finger a little.  
  
The fullness is weird. The openness, too. But it doesn’t feel quite so alien as it did before. He could get used to this. He could certainly let Cas in long enough to get him off. Satisfied, he nods at his reflection and pulls out, ready to wash his hands again and then head back out into the bedroom.  
  
Odd. Tingling. He stops halfway through soaping.  
  
Oh, Jesus, there it is again, that sense that he’s missing something. His hips are wiggling, twitching from side to side. Trying to recapture…  
  
He slips his finger again and oh, God, now, now it’s satisfying. Now it’s what he wants.  
  
He pants and grips the counter with his free hand. His finger fills the empty space, brushes against all the nerves that are clamoring for attention, and a groan escapes his mouth. God, yes. Just like this, shallow but solid, it’s good enough that he’s pushing and pulling, his thighs starting to tense as he pumps back onto his own ass.  
  
And he starts wanting it deeper.  
  
He pulls out, groans through the withdrawal, soaps his hands up one more time, and heads out to the bathroom. He needs. Now.  
  
Castiel has barely time to rise to meet him before Dean’s in his arms, kissing him hard, pushing him back onto the bed. His hand grabs Castiel’s, drags it back to clamp it around one of his ass cheeks. Fuck, yes. Their bodies are hot as they drag across each other, Castiel hard at the first aggressive push from Dean. Dean joining him, his erection almost painful. They groan and grind like teenagers who don’t know from sex, tasting each other’s tongues, all exploration and delight at being so close together.  
  
“Cas,” Dean begs, panting between frantic draws of breath. “Cas. Want. Want your fingers. C’mon now.”  
  
“Dean are you —”  and sure doesn’t get past his mouth, not when Dean’s lips are hot clamps on Castiel’s. “Shallow,” he says. “I like it shallow. And quick. At first.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes are wide, but he nods his head. “Okay.”  
  
And still he pulls away for lube before entering Dean, the conscientious little fucker. Dean’s panting and gasping as ihe waits.  
  
At the first cool slick liquid intrusion, Dean’s groaning, his dick pulsing against Cas’s, and he kisses as hard as he knows how. “Fuck, Cas, Cas, yes,” he whispers, the worlds all jumbling together. It’s different this time, so different, and he loves it, doesn’t want it to stop. Every stab and stretch and his nerves are lighting up in a thousand colors. He shudders, clings tight, straddles Castiel and looks down at him, back curved forward, eyes meeting Castiel’s so Castiel can catch every expression of wonder and pleasure that flies past Dean’s face.  
  
“Deeper,” Dean says at last, and Castiel doesn’t even get the word out this time before Dean’s answering. “Yeah. I’m serious. Deeper.”  
  
And oh. Oh, God the deepness. The sense of being plumbed through. He’s so slick inside. Castiel’s fingers (two fingers now) are moving in delightful tandem with the rise and fall of Dean’s own breaths. And still they kiss, Castiel’s mouth dipping to Dean’s neck, Dean crying out short choked things against the pillow beneath Castiel’s head. His hands rake up and down Castiel’s sides, then spread flat against his chest, push him down to the bed.  
  
He worms off Castiel’s fingers, leans back, finds the protrusion of his cock just below him.  
  
“Oh,” Castiel says at the contact, and there isn’t a word in the world to describe just how that “oh” comes out. Breathy, startled, half-groaning, full of want… those are a start. But mostly it’s that kind of sound that doesn’t need any more than a syllable to explain what it means.  
  
Dean pushes down.  
  
He goes shallow at first, like he’d wanted, his thighs controlling the depth. Castiel, on the pillow, watches him, raising his hands to his hips to just feel the rhythm. Dean grunts, his head flying up, chin jutting toward the ceiling, just feeling the rainbow snap of his nerves with each push. Full, alive, then back to the edge of sensation, then down again for more. It’s awesome. It makes him want more. But he holds back.  
  
Mostly to see the color drain from Castiel’s face, to feel his hands tighten on Dean’s hips and start to drag, and to whisper “Hold on, Cas, gentle, not too much.” Castiel’s fingers go slack, and he gives an inhuman groan, like he’s gonna burst with the effort of controlling himself.  
  
And then Dean winks. “Just kiddin’,” he says, and sinks down all the way.

* * *

So here we are, at the climax of our story at last, and Dean’s riding Castiel, taking his cock in as full and deep as Castiel had taken him. At long last we’re here, at the Adventures of Real Anal Sex, starring Dean Winchester, and how is it?  
  
It’s… it’s….  
  
It’s sex, mostly.

Meaning it’s sweaty and messy and occasionally hurts and there’s a lot of kind of wondering if they’re going at the right pace and if Cas is enjoying himself and if he’s not does that make it worth it and shit shit shit that’s so deep and if he pushes back any further at that angle it’s gonna hurt and oh, oh, okay, hey, now, that, that’s awesome, let’s do more of that — oh, no Cas, don’t move, not now, not when it was just getting good.  
  
And somewhere along the way Dean wonders if this is how girls think when guys are having sex with them. Because it kind of explains a lot. Being pushed into is a lot different than pushing. Way different to be the paint than the paintbrush. Suddenly you feel like a place more than a person, somewhere someone else goes to get his rocks off, and what about the place where _YOU_ feel things, where do you get to stick _THAT_ , doesn’t it count too? And the way Dean used to laugh off the girls who didn’t get what they wanted from him seems horrible in retrospect, and he’s very nearly ashamed.  
  
But then his eyes meet Castiel’s again, and their hands are all tangled up in knots together, and it doesn’t matter who’s painting whom because they’re together, moving together, both of them all as one. Dean wants to go faster and slower all at once, to speed closer to the moment he knows is coming but also to enjoy this for as long as he can. Because no matter how sex was before, no matter how satisfying it was or wasn’t, this is damn good sex, and it’s got the added bonus of letting Castiel in where nobody else has ever gotten to go, giving him that little piece of Dean that was effectively still untouched and ready to give.  
  
His virginity?  
  
The thought almost makes Dean laugh.  
  
If he had a virginity to give, though, he’d damn well wanna give it to Cas. The guy who’s beneath him now with his legs bent and his hips arching up, groaning and saying Dean’s name over and over. His eyes are wide open and tortured, and Dean sees him trying to hold back, and he remembers his first time (way back in a decade he won’t name with a partner he won’t name either) and how impossible it was not to go off like a rocket. And then he thinks about how much tighter Cas was than that first experience.  
  
Holy shit, Cas must be in agony.  
  
Dean leans forward, rocks hard against him. The sensation of Castiel’s cock inside him is overwhelming at this angle, like it’s gonna burst out through his spine or crack his vertebrae, but it’s worth it to have Cas’s chest against his chest, Cas’s mouth straining up toward his mouth. Dean catches it, breathes into it. Wills with his whole body and soul to fill Cas up the way he’s being filled, until it feels like Dean is in every part of him, touching things that can’t be touched and filtering through him like sunlight or air.  
  
“Love you,” he whispers. And when he leans back to take a breath, then sandwiches himself down onto Cas again, he murmurs into those straining lips, “Come on, Cas. C’mon.”  
  
And then _holy Jesus_ heat, spilling and exploding inside him, and Dean’s arching up again just so it has somewhere to go, and Castiel shouting loud and low as a church bell so the sound echoes in his ears for moments after. And Dean aching, body splitting open, so full and wanting almost to laugh with how proud he is and how powerful he feels. All in a moment, a powerful punch that dies down into convulsive shudders around him and in him.  
  
He’s so slick inside that Castiel pops right out of him, and for a sec Dean just presses himself on top of Cas, holding him tight and grinning into his shoulder.  
  
“Good?” he mutters.  
  
An affirmative grunt. “And you?”  
  
“I?” Dean forgot about himself. He’s hard, but not the kind of hard he has to do something about it. And the rest of him is so damn soft right now anyway… soft and loose and…  
  
and…  
  
“Son of a bitch,” he says, and scrambles off to the bathroom again.  
  
Takes his muscles awhile to get back to normal, and even though they kind of have to flex and release a bit, there’s nothing there for them to work with, so to speak. Which is all a very euphemistic way of saying it’s probably the most epic dump Dean’s ever taken that doesn’t involve anything being dumped. And possibly the weirdest experience he’s ever had involving his poor confused glutes.  
  
But when he crawls back in bed with Castiel a few minutes later, he’s feeling relaxed in all the good ways, and Castiel’s arm comes around him warm and secure.  
  
“Was it worth it?” Castiel says.  
  
“Definitely worth it.”  
  
“Would you do it again?”  
  
The question comes too abruptly for Dean to quite expect it. “What, right now?” Castiel shakes his head. “Yeah, I liked it. I’d do it again. Not sure it’s enough to get me off, though.”  
  
Castiel is silent a moment. Then, a faint blush painting his cheeks, he says, “I neglected to touch you.”  
  
“You—” Dean bites down his urge to reassure. This isn’t some girl, this is Cas. “Yeah, you kinda did.” He puts a hand over his own fading erection. “But I already came, so it’s not like I needed it.”  
  
“We’ll need more practice,” Castiel says, and the resignation in his voice — and the sigh at the end, like he’s agreeing to a course of difficult study — makes Dean laugh aloud.  
  
“Don’t think of it like that,” he says. “Think of it as… more adventures.”  
  
“The further adventures of anal sex?” Castiel says, but he’s rolled away before Dean can land a punch. Guy does seem to learn from his mistakes pretty quickly.  
  
And when Dean thinks about it that way, he’d have to be stupid not to look forward to said further adventures.  
  
Continued next time, fade to black.  
  
  



End file.
